Unintended
by lavellanpls
Summary: The Inquisitor comes back from the Fade. Hawke doesn't.


"Where's Hawke?"

The Inquisitor had come back through the rift in an explosive burst; stood firm and bloodied and sealed the rift with a crackling pop while the demons surrounding them vanished. People cheered. Some cried.

Varric didn't see Hawke.

No one answered him when he asked. The other Warden wouldn't even look at him. Cassandra turned away, lips drawn thin, and he saw _pity_ in her eyes. A dark, ugly thing. "Where's Hawke?" he repeated, but he knew the answer even before the hasty explanation came. Knew, somehow, the moment she stepped foot in Skyhold.

Hawke was gone.

She was never supposed to get caught up in this mess. She'd already done her time saving the world; spent enough blood and tears and sanity protecting a bunch of people who never returned the favor. She'd finally gotten _out_ , couldn't they just let her go?

Weren't they done taking from her?

He guessed they wouldn't be able to now.

He didn't feel like talking to anyone, after. Maybe not for a very long time. Maybe never.

Writing the letters was…shit. It was probably one of the hardest things he'd had to do, and that list was impressive. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to be the one to tell them she was gone. To detail how he'd let her down, again. How was he supposed to explain this? What could he possibly say to their friends to make any part of this feel okay?

How was he supposed to tell Bethany that her sister was gone, too?

Isabela would have his head, he thought. If Fenris didn't get to it first. Merrill would cry. Aveline would work very hard not to. Varric just wished he could stop.

Wished all of it would just…stop.

He was still avoiding letters when Lavellan walked up and wordlessly took a seat beside him. "I'm sorry," she said, but Varric could never believe anyone was as sorry as he was.

He didn't look up from the letter, still unfinished. "Yeah," he agreed. "Sorry."

The word was starting to lose its meaning. If it ever truly had one to begin with.

"Look," she began, "Varric, I-"

"Save it," he cut in. "I've got enough apologies to deal with. For once let's just...not."

If Lilith was bothered, she didn't seem it. Only sat back, hands folded neatly in front of her. "Then let's talk about good things," she said. "Tell me about the first time you kissed her."

His head fell wearily into his hands. "Not this again. Not right now. Just not…not _now_. I told you—nothing like that ever happened. She was-" Clever, tenacious, fearless, _stupid,_ so _stupid_ \- "She was my friend," he finished, and his voice caught on an unexpected hitch. This was never how her story was supposed to end. _Hawke_ wasn't supposed to end.

Lilith nodded—a sympathetic motion. "Yeah, I know. And you lied." She rested her elbows atop the table. "So tell me about it."

Any other day he'd argue. He'd spin something clever and divert the topic before she even noticed, throw her off with some clever wordplay or carefully tailored half-truths. Any other day he'd just _lie._

Any other day Hawke would have still been alive.

"It was raining," he said instead. "Everything was going to shit, with Kirkwall right smack in the center of it, and…I don't know. We just…"

"Happened," she finished. "Yeah. That's usually how it goes."

"I guess I assumed it'd be crazier," he said, and barely registered his own voice. The words didn't sound quite right. For once a tale unpracticed. "Everything else she did was crazy; it'd make sense, right? But it was… It was sweet." Faded memories of rough hands and hushed words. Lips pressed soft like a whisper. How she laughed too loud. Held too tight. "She was smiling."

"What, did you expect her to _bite?_ "

"Maybe? I don't know, she had enough scars—I figured she probably approached _everything_ in life like a battering ram."

"You liked her scars."

"I did."

"I bet she appreciated that."

"Yeah, well. It's not like it mattered."

In the end none of it really mattered.

"You ever tell the others?" Lilith pushed on, and Varric wondered if she knew what she was doing. If she knew how deeply it stung.

He covered with a sigh. "I'm not even telling you, officially."

"Is that a no, then?"

"No," he agreed. "We didn't…I didn't tell anyone. I'm not even sure where _you're_ getting all this from. Because I don't care how much you argue it, there's no hidden subtext in my books. I'm only barely decent at _text,_ subtext is beyond my reach."

"Maybe I'm just smart," she said. "Besides. Hawke and I got some time in for friendly conversation. You weren't the _only_ person she talked to, you know."

"Right," he said, unconvinced. "And she told you all that."

"She could have. She also told me you're not even a dwarf; just a really buff gnome."

And he had to laugh, because that…actually did sound like her.

Somehow that only made it worse.

"Did you love her?" she asked.

But that question was harder to answer.

"…yeah," he said finally, but the affirmation was broken. An admission of defeat. Of loss. "I did."

It was weird hearing it in past tense.

Wrong.

"She thought she was so damned clever," he murmured. "I'd call her crazy and she'd say 'like a fox,' but that didn't… Shit. I don't know. It didn't fit her. Ironic, right? A redhead who cheats at cards and I went and named her _Badger_."

"Because she was hardheaded," Lilith supplied, "and could probably dig a decent trench." Her laughter faded too fast. "…you know she couldn't let someone die in her place. She couldn't."

"Yeah. I know. That's the problem." Of course Hawke stayed. Of course. Always so damn _repentant,_ always looking for another cause to champion… "She blamed herself, for what happened in Kirkwall. Shit, probably for the whole mage rebellion. She always says- …she always thought she could've helped Anders. Changed his mind, or something, I don't know. As if that mess was her fault, too." He tried to sigh, but it came out closer to a sob than he was comfortable with. "That wasn't on her. None of that was on her to fix."

"No," she agreed. "But someone had to try."

Hawke always had to _try._

"You remind me of her sometimes," he said. "The big damn hero part, not the…weird, unwarranted confession of love part. Maybe the dead part; who knows. I've written enough tragedies to know heroes don't get happy endings."

"But that's kind of the beauty of it, isn't it? Maybe we don't end happy, but we end…big. With purpose." Lilith was still staring at the table. Still studying woodgrain with a pensive stare. "She was sorry. In the end. She wanted me to tell you that."

"What, sorry she couldn't manage to save the world all over again?"

"She's sorry she left you behind. It wasn't an easy decision. But…" She fidgeted with her fingers. "Sometimes things are bigger than us. Bigger than we can catch sight of all at once. Hawke was a part of something big, and beautiful. You were, too. She'd want you to remember that."

Varric found himself pulled into a hug that held too tight. An echo that stung too deep.

"I'm sorry," she said. He didn't correct her this time.

"Yeah. Me too."


End file.
